The Two Jennies
by Dichroic
Summary: Shirley Blythe, his daughter, and his airplane, after WWI.
1. Chapter 1

No one at Ingleside was surprised at the bond between Susan and Jenny Blythe. She loved all the Blythes, and had served them devotedly for thirty years, but there was a certain fierce maternal tenderness she saved only for Shirley, Jenny's father. She had cared for him when Grandmother was so ill after his birth, and called him her "little brown boy". Grandfather said that with all Susan's heroism through the hard years from 1914 through 1918, he had never been so impressed as at the moment she waved his youngest son off to war. "There was tragedy in her eyes," he said, "But she was _indomitable_. I knew at that moment that we would win the war. With women like ours behind them, how could the fighting men not prevail?"

The Great War gave a new perspective to life afterward. The Blythe family feared that Susan would have the vapors when Shirley decided to move to New York to work on his beloved airplanes after the war, but she only said, "Well, little did I think that those blessed children would scatter as they have, with Rilla in Toronto, Di in Vancouver, and now Shirley in the United States, but I suppose we must just take a break and feed them well when they come to visit us here. I do not think that child will be finding lemon curd pies like ours in New York, though, and that you may tie to. But I do hope he will not be falling in love with a Yankee girl."

She even visited him twice, once with the family when he married the daughter of the airplane designer he worked for, and once alone, to help after the birth of his daughter Jenny Susan Anne, "named for her mother and both of mine," as Shirley said. Susan and the elder Jenny loved each other for Shirley's sake. When the exhausted white young mother held her precious tiny bundle for the first time, she kissed the rosy small cheek, looked up over the downy head, and said, "Promise me, Susan, that if anything – happens to me and Shirley, that you will care for her and love her."

"Of course I will and so will the dear Doctor and Mrs Doctor dear and all of her uncles and aunts," said Susan briskly. "But you will far outlive me and you will bring up this precious mite yourself, and help her with her own babies. Now, you go to sleep and rest yourself and do not worry about anything. Susan is on the case."

Less than four years later, though, Susan was proved wrong. The tears she had not shed during the war years ran down her cheeks as she read, "We laid her in a beautiful old place, with the trees she loved talking to each other overhead and her people all around her. Our son lies there with her. Since I must lose them, it was some comfort to lay them together. I hated to think of him all alone, so tiny as he was. I can't stay bear to stay here without her. Little Jenny and I will be at Ingleside soon."

"I remember how I felt after – after we lost Joyce," Anne said softly. "Thank God he has Jenny to comfort him. We must make his old room ready for him, Susan, and be prepared to help him with little Jenny. She may not even understand yet that her mother is not coming back."

"That we will," said Susan stoutly. "I do not think they can be here for a week at least, and I will go and borrow a crib and some toys for her from Jem and Faith. They still have Walter's little crib in the attic, and he and his sisters have all outgrown it."

Only a day, later, though, Gilbert stepped out on the Ingleside porch and looked to the south."That aeroplane is flying unusually low. I wonder if he's having problems?" He looked a bit longer. "Anne! Susan! I think he's going to land in the field next door! I'm going to go over to see if he needs petrol or anything."

But the high-wing 'plane swept to a reassuringly smooth landing. As soon as it stopped, an unexpectedly small head popped up. A man stepped out of the 'plane and swung a young child down. Forgetting his years, Gilbert ran toward them. "Shirley! Jenny! We didn't expect you for a week!"

"We flied here in my plane, Granddad. My Jenny-plane."

"It's a Curtiss JN-4 – nicknamed the Jenny," Shirley explained, smiling down at her. Then his face sobered. "Can we stay here for a bit, Dad? Neither of us could stand it there – the house was so empty without her."

"Of course, son," the doctor said. Your mother will love having a little girl in the house again. It's been too quiet, with you all grown and gone."

An hour later, Shirley doubted the house was ever quiet for long. Rilla and her brood were in Toronto, and Nan and Jerry were living in Halifax with their sons, but Jem and Faith, Diana and her husband George, and all of their children had come to visit, as had half the neighborhood. "You must expect people to be curious, when you make such a dramatic entrance," explained his mother, with a twinkle in her eye.

After a month, Jenny had settled into life at Ingleside as though she'd been born there. She still cried for her mother every night, but during the days she played with the other children in Rainbow Valley, or followed Susan around, trying to help with the cooking and baking. "And a real help she is too, for all she's so young," averred Susan proudly.

"Shirley seems restless, though," Anne observed to her husband. "Jenny is happy here, or as happy as she can be – poor motherless mite – but he doesn't seem to be able to settle."

"He's still grieving," replied Gilbert. "But I think it's more than that. He's done a man's work and lived an exciting life since he first enlisted in the war. He has nothing of his own to do here. I'll be sorry when he goes, but I don't think he'll stay here much longer."

Dr Blythe's knowledge of his son was proved a few days later when Shirley came to his parents as they sat on the porch after dinner, enjoying the magnificent purple-golden sunset over the harbor.

"Mother – Dad. I want to thank you for letting us come to you. It's been the best thing for Jenny, after her mother's death, to be with so many adults who love her."

"And for you, Shirley?" his mother asked, with that direct gray gaze that always seemed to see her children's hearts.

"It's been good for me, too, to have these weeks of peace and healing. But that's why I came to you. I need to ask a favor, though I hope you'll feel free to turn me down if it's too much to ask.

"Ask away, son," said the doctor, with a glance at his wife for confirmation. "We'll do it if we can."

"I can't stay here," Shirley said abruptly. "I love Ingleside, and all of you, but I don't fit here any more. I can't go back to New York either. Not without – not alone. I don't think I fit anywhere anymore."

"Then what will you do?" asked Anne, simply.

"I want to take the 'plane and just go. There's always work, taking someone who needs to travel in a hurry, or giving rides as a barnstormer, or teaching new pilots. But I can't take Jenny. Would you care for her for me? I can't bear to be away from her for long, so I'll visit every few weeks, depending where I am."

"You know Susan would be in her glory having Jenny with us. But Shirley," Anne gave him that direct look again. "You won't take any unnecessary risks, will you? We couldn't bear to lose you…too. And Jenny has already lost one parent."

"No, Mother." His brown gaze was as direct as hers had been. I'm a father now and I have responsibilities. And I think I know a little of what you and Father went through now." He placed one hand on each of theirs. "I won't take any unnecessary risks."


	2. Chapter 2

Jenny cried when her father told her he was leaving, but seemed to be mollified by his promise to visit in two weeks, and to write to her every week. While he was gone, she brought in the mail every day, though she had to stand on a stool to reach into the mailbox. "I hafta check the mail," she explained importantly to Susan, "In case there's a letter for me from Dad."

The next week, she went to Susan with a pencil and a large piece of paper. "Susan, will you help me write to Dad?" she asked seriously. "I want to tell him about the birds' nest I saw yesterday, and the new dress you're making me, and the kitties in Bruce Meredith's barn."

"Of course Susan will help you, little Jenny," answered Susan. "Do you begin by drawing him pictures of those things, and then I will help you with the words."

When Shirley returned, as soon as he stepped out of the JN-4 and down to the ground, Jenny was at his side handing him a large piece of paper folded neatly into the shape of an envelope, and sealed with a bit of wax. "I drawed the stamps on, so it would be sure to get to you," she announced solemnly. "And I drawed a kitty and a birds' nest, and…."

He grinned as he swung her up to his shoulder. "Don't tell me everything or there won't be anything left to read, Miss Jenny. Did you like my letter, then?"

"Yes, I did. Grandmum read it to me. But soon I'm going to learn to read myself so she won't have to. And then I can write so I can make you a _real_ letter."

Whenever he came home after that, Jenny solemnly handed him her latest letter. It was a great day for them when the letter consisted simply of "I LOVE YOU, DADDY" in uneven block letter, and Jenny was able to announce, "I writed it all myself!" During the winter, Shirley was not able to return home as often, but Jenny was somewhat consoled that he was staying in one place for longer, so that she could write him "real letters, with envylopes and real stamps!" She insisted on handing each one to the postman personally, to "make sure he gave it to Daddy."

When spring came. Shirley began returning home every other weekend again, and Jenny began to ask Susan for lessons in baking for him. Susan was as eager as Jenny to serve all of Shirley's favorite foods, and she willingly connived in the little girl's plans. "No, Mrs. Dr dear," she was heard to say firmly one week, "We cannot have lemon pie this Saturday. That blessed brown boy is coming in this weekend and he must and shall have his apple brown Betty. Jenny has planned it all for him, and she will be peeling the apples herself, careful lamb that she is."

Between Susan and Jenny, they served Shirley something special whenever he came home that spring and summer, until he pushed his chair back from the table one night and said, "Between the two of you, you're spoiling me! If I stayed home much longer, I'm afraid I would be too heavy for the airplane to fly with me in it."

Two years went on in that way; sometimes Shirley stayed at home for as much as a month at a time, but eventually he would get restless and return to his work. He never left without solemnly promising Jenny that he would return as often as possible to his "air anchor", as he called her. The summer she was six, Shirley took her with him for a few days at a time, when he was working in a place where she would be able to stay with him. The bond between them grew ever stronger. Shirley's pride in his daughter was evident in his brown eyes whenever he looked at her, and Jenny began to speak of becoming a pilot "like Miss Earhart when I grow up, so I can work with Dad." She frowned, an oddly mature expression above her stubborn six-year-old chin. "I don't think Dad eats enough when I'm not there to watch him. And I love airplanes like my Jenny-plane, anyway."

That August, Jenny watched Shirley as he loaded his warmest clothing into the JN-4. "Dad, what are you doing? It's summer!"

"I'm going to the Klondike," he explained. "It's very far north, and I'll be away for maybe two months, so it will get cold up there. I'm going to help by carrying messages and bringing out some of the men mining for gold in the remote areas, before winter comes."

"You be careful there!" she ordered. "And write me a letter every week. If you use short words, I can read them by my ownself now."

"Yes, ma'am!" He saluted, then bent down to kiss her before moving to the propeller. "Stand back, now!" he warned. He waited until she moved behind the field's fence, then propped the plane to start its engine and swung himself into the cockpit.

Somehow Shirley did manage to get a letter to her every few days on his journey across Canada, then every week from the Klondike, though as he wrote, postal service in the remote areas where we was working was largely a matter of finding someone who was heading out to civilization and didn't mind carrying a letter along. His letters arrived all through August and early September. Due to the uncertainty of the mails, the letters didn't arrive exactly on schedule, so no one was surprised when a week went by without the customary envelope for Jenny. When one week stretched into two and then three, though, the doctor began looking grim. "It gets cold early up there," he told his wife privately. "He'd better come home soon if he doesn't want to get snowed in for the winter." To Jenny, of course, the usual week-long wait between letters was an eternity; by the time the second week had passed, her grandparents were watching her carefully, expecting tears and questions they were afraid to answer. Yet Jenny did not cry. Her letters to her father were faithfully mailed twice a week, and if the set of her small jaw was grimmer than usual no one but Susan could tell.


	3. Chapter 3

One afternoon at the beginning of the fourth letterless week, Mrs. Dr. Blythe came home from a Ladies' Aid meeting to find the house in an uproar and Susan paler than the new milk in her own kitchen. "Oh, Mrs. Doctor, dear!" she moaned, as Anne came up the walk. "You had better sit down for this news."

Anne went as pale as Susan, and there was a terrible light in her green eyes. "What is it, Susan? Tell me directly. Is it Jenny?"

"No one here has seen hide nor hair of that precious mite since breakfast. She never came home to lunch, and she isn't anywhere in the house or in Rainbow Valley." Susan stopped, then went on, "I have searched everywhere. The doctor is out on a call, but I have called Jem and he has begun the search. She has been planning something lately, and would never tell me what it was, but some of her little clothes are missing, too. I am afraid she has run away!"

The search went on for a weary hour, with the women remaining at home lest someone should call or the small wanderer return. Once there was the terrible news that the disused well behind the old Parsonage had been opened up and left unattended for a half hour, and the four women (for Faith and Diana had come to offer their support) were unable to look at each other. But it was soon found that the well had been closed again before Jenny had finished helping Susan wash up after breakfast, and hope began to spring more easily. Still, when the doctor arrived home, it was to a house full of women whose strained faces showed their fear. "Anne!" He rushed to her side, alarmed. "What has happened?"

She raised her pale face to him. "Gilbert, it's Jenny. She's been missing for two hours now. Jem and the men are searching."

He gathered her in his arms, then looked over her bowed head to Susan and his daughters. "We'll find her, don't worry. This is hardly the first time an Ingleside child has gone missing, after all, and you've all turned up safe. Susan, what has she been talking about?"

"Very little, Dr. dear, and that you may tie to. That blessed child has grown quieter and quieter since her father's last letter came."

"That's it!" exclaimed the doctor. "She's gone to look for Shirley, I would stake my life on that. How would she try to get there?"

"Sh-she was asking about the trains yesterday," faltered Susan. "She wanted to know if they went all the way to the Klondike. I told her they did, but that passengers had to take several trains to get all the way there. I had forgotten that till just now."

"Anne-girl, you wait here in case she's found somewhere else. Girls, please stay with her. Susan, come with me to the station."

As they drove up to the train station, the doctor swore, hearing a train whistle in the distance. "That's the train now. We'd better hurry." He tore into the station lot, stopped the car with a fine disregard for parking in straight lines. He went to give Susan a hand out of the car, but she was already out, her mouth set and her movements quick. "This way!"

They stepped onto the platform to see a small weary figure stand up and peer toward the train, from where it had evidently been huddled next to a small suitcase. "Little Jenny!" Susan cried, and sped toward the girl.

Jenny hugged her in return, then stepped back, her small face puckered with anxiety. "I'm going after Dad, Susan," she explained. "I have the five dollars he gave me when he left the first time, last year. I'm going to bring him home safe."

The doctor tried to explain, as the train pulled in and stood, steaming. "You have a lot of pluck, but I'm afraid that would be difficult, Jenny-Jen. The Klondike's a very, very big place, much bigger than PEI, and your father's been flying over a lot of it. You wouldn't know where to look to find him, and then the rest of us would have to worry that we'd lost you too."

He paused. "Do you know how we'd feel if we lost both of you?" She hung her head, the sudden realization of their feelings on her face.

He continued, "But we've been worried as well. Tell you what: let's go home now and get out of the way of all these passengers. "We'll write a letter to the people he was working with, to ask if they have any news."

"That won't be necessary," a dry voice interjected. Jenny's eyes flew up, to see a brown man, thinner than she'd last seen him, but with a smile in his eyes just for her.

"Dad!" she squealed, and flew into his arms.

"Son!" "Shirley!" the doctor and Susan exclaimed. He put one arm around Jenny, and with the other first shook his father's hand, then hugged Susan.

"We were afraid something had … happened to you," the doctor told him, huskily.

"Something did," said Shirley. "Let's go home and I'll tell you all about it at once.

Jenny sat on her father's knee all the way home, her head on his shoulder. "Were you really going to come after me all alone?" he asked her. She nodded solemnly.

"I'm proud to find I have such a brave daughter," Shirley told his daughter, as her face lit with pride. "But please, remember, you have to think of other people too. Do you know how upset Susan and your grandparents would have been if you'd vanished without telling anyone?"

Her face turned pensive again, she leaned on his chest. One thumb snuck into her mouth, as it had not done since she was smaller. "I'm sorry, Susan," she said. "I won't go away without telling you again."

"There, there, my duck," Susan said, patting her knee. "Do you not know that Susan would move Heaven and Earth to find your blessed father, if finding were to be done? Next time, you should trust Susan."

When they arrived home, Anne's face lit up to a degree Gilbert had not seen since 1918. Once the whole family was seated, Jenny of Shirley's lap and Anne's arm on his shoulder, he began his story.

"You know I was delivering men, messages, and some supplies all over the Klondike," he began. It's wild country out there still – like pioneering times. There are long distances between the mines and settlements, and if you run out of fuel there's nowhere to get more." His arm tightened on Jenny's shoulder. "You may be sure I remembered that my little girl needed a father, and that I made certain never to run out of fuel."

"I was as careful as I could be with my preflight inspections. But I couldn't account for the weather. One day as I was flying, I saw a storm boiling up ahead of me. I was more than halfway through my trip, and I didn't have enough fuel to go all the way back to where I'd started. So I turned to head directly away from the clouds, and started looking for somewhere I could land to wait out the storm. After an hour went by and I hadn't seen any sign of a settlement, I gave up and landed in the flattest prairie I could find. It was a good landing, because I could walk away from it, but I'm afraid the airplane wing fabric was a little damaged.

"I waited out the storm sitting under the wing – it was a gullywasher and I got wetter than I'd have liked. When the storm finally passed, it was beginning to get dark. I didn't dare take off until I could see to examine the damage, so I spent the night there – I had a little torch, but it wasn't strong enough to make a thorough check. I also had a ham sandwich the cook at the camp had given me, but by morning, I was hungry as well as cold. I had my warm flying jacket on, but it was a little damp by then.

"After I checked the wing out, I thought I could still fly a little, but not fast or far. I headed back in the direction I'd come from and after a couple of hours I spotted another small mine. I had to just hope it was still being worked.

"I managed to land, but by then I didn't have enough fuel to make another flight to anywhere useful. I had to walk a couple of miles in from the nearest place I could land, too, so you can imagine how glad I was to see people at the mining camp. But the miners there were planning to winter over, and had no way out except when the Company wagon came to bring supplies. I was lucky, at that: I got there two weeks before the last supply dump before the winter. The miners gave me a place to sleep and fed me until the wagon came – I hope it doesn't leave them short for the winter! I had to leave the Jenny-plane there, though, until it can be brought out and repaired next spring. I caught a ride out on the supply wagon to the tiny town where the mining company's based, and from there was able to find rides to bigger and bigger towns until I was finally able to take a train home. I knew you'd all be worried sick, but there was no way to send a letter that would get here any faster than I could.

He looked down at Jenny, cuddled against his side. "So now I'm here to stay for the winter, Miss Jenny-Jen. Glad to see me back?"

She nodded, and nestled closer. Her grandmother looked at him with shining eys and answered, "We all are, Shirley, and your timing is perfect. Do you know what next week is?"

"No, mum," he answered. "I lost track entirely while I was traveling."

"It's Thanksgiving," she answered. "Susan, we will have something to celebrate this year. Let's have a real feast, and see how many of our chicks can come home for it!"

"Indeed we will, Mrs Doctor Dear," answered Susan. "We will have Apple Brown Betty, and pumpkin pie, and enough turkey for everyone! And we will give thanks that the lost is found – and that we do not have to ration sugar, any longer."

**THE END**


	4. Author

**Author's notes:**

Montgomery was usually not fussy about dates. I've assumed that Jenny is born in about 1922, so most of this story takes place in about 1928. From 1922-1930, Canadian Thanksgiving was celebrated on Armistice Day, November 11.

The Curtiss JN-4 two seat biplane, developed as a trainer in WWI, was one of the most popular aircraft of all time. After the war, hundreds were sold for civilian use, and it became the plane most identified with the barnstormers of the 1920s. Since a Jenny only had a useful load of 500 lbs including pilot and fuel, Shirley would only have been able to carry one passenger at a time, and his cargo was probably limited to important messages, mail, and small items.

I was unable to find any reference to rationing after WWI, so presumably it ended with the end of the war (as opposed to Britain in WWII, where rationing continured into the 1950s).


End file.
